Pass It On
by blackwidow10
Summary: HD oneshot. Can you imagine THE Draco Malfoy having something so humiliating as a cold? Don't believe it till you read it.


Pass It On

By: blackwidow10

Disclaimer: Screw it, I own everything! Especially Draco! ... Oh, fine, I'm lying.

A/N: The following story is the ONLY good thing to come out of being sick.

oo

"…and it's not like you have good taste in friends, among other things."

"Oh please, Potter," Draco retorted. "At least my friends aren't poor," the Slytherin sneered at Ron, who had taken up his usual position at Harry's side the minute it looked like a fight would be starting; Hermione, on Harry's other side, didn't even flinch when Draco added, "Nor are they Mudbloods." And from there it went on as usual: Ron overreacted, Hermione told Ron to stop overreacting, and Harry just continued his glaring match with Draco. The spectators were gathering.

But before Harry could even get his next insult fully formed in his head (though it did have some vague reference to Draco's mother), something amazing happened. It was unlike anything Hogwarts had ever seen; a spectacle that would have the school's rumor mill buzzing for weeks, as everyone tried to comprehend it all.

Draco Malfoy sneezed.

Time may have stopped, but no one was counting the seconds anyway. They were all too shocked.

It was possibly the most pathetic thing that the Great Slytherin Prince had ever done (or would ever do) within the Hogwarts corridors.

Harry, all thoughts of mothers forgotten and as shocked as the rest of them, took a few steps toward Draco, who was blushing harder than he ever had. His eyes were wide in horror and his slender hands were covering his nose. It was comical.

And Harry thought he looked rather cute; but, as is always the case, he forced himself to "not think those things about Malfoy, of all people."

Instead, Harry grinned maliciously and said, "Malfoy…are you sick?"

"No! Never! Malfoy's don't get sick!"

"Are you sure?" Harry, without thinking, put his hand against Draco's forehead. "You feel feverish."

"No, I'm not! You're imagining things, Potter." Draco's head was spinning; partly because, yeah, okay, he had a cold, and partly because Harry's hand was so cool and soothing against his skin that all he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep. He unconsciously leaned into the touch.

Harry gaped slightly. "Um…no…no, I'm not imagining things, Malfoy. You're hot." This caused quite a few people to giggle in horror as the craziness of the situation caught up with them. Harry noticed his unintended innuendo and blushed just as hard as Draco.

Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had stopped their squabbling in favor of adopting twin looks of wide-eyed horror. Ron was making small, wounded-animal noises; Hermione was speechless.

Harry tried to rectify the situation by saying, "Uh…I mean…"

Draco, sensing an opportunity to lessen his own embarrassment by increasing Harry's, moved his hands from his face adopted his favorite facial expression, the Malfoy Smirk™. "Why, Potter, I had no idea you felt that way about me. I…"

The mob of students looked questioningly at their favorite ferret, waiting to hear what terrible insult he would come up with.

"I…"

Ron whispered, "I hope he's gone brain dead." Hermione shushed him and continued to stare, as if watching her favorite daytime soap opera.

"I…"

Harry tilted his head to the side, embarrassment forgotten, and waited for Draco to continue. The other boy looked rather scared, he thought, as if he were trying not to…

ACHOO!

…as if he were trying not to sneeze again.

This time everyone laughed, happy to see the person they all hated so much get a taste of his own medicine. Harry felt sorry for him, no matter who he was. Draco was covering his face again (which Harry thought was a shame, as he was so nice to look at…"do not think those things about Malfoy"), and instead of looking embarrassed he just looked sad, resigned to the fact that he, Draco Malfoy, was being laughed at. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there.

So Draco did what every good Slytherin does when he realizes he's lost: he ran, straight to the Slytherin dungeons.

Now that their entertainment was gone, the crowd of students began wandering into the Great Hall for the dinner they had partly missed by "attending the show." The Gryffindor Trio followed amidst the still-giggling students.

Harry ate only two bites of his food, only because Hermione started to look at him funny.

oo

Harry loved to wander the corridors at night in his Cloak; seeing, but not seen, hearing, but not heard (unless he got too clumsy). Here, invisible to the world, no one stared at him as if he were a god, or, in Snape's case, the scum of the earth. Here, he had freedom.

He also, here in the dungeons near the Slytherin common room, had the opportunity of watching Draco seemingly trying to cough up a lung (or, possibly, a kidney). Again, he felt sorry for the Slytherin. He wished that he could help him. Wait…HE couldn't, but Pomfrey could. Which brought up an interesting question.

"Hey, Malfoy."

Draco jumped about a foot in the air and looked around wildly; Harry had forgotten to take his cloak off, of course. How convenient.

"Potter? I know that's your voice."

Harry obligingly took off the Invisibility Cloak. "How do you know my voice so well?"

"It's a requirement of being your rival, Potter. You wouldn't recognize mine?" Draco raised an eyebrow, but the effect was ruined when another cough escaped him.

"Of course I would." The two shared an intense look, which was also ruined, this time by Draco's sniffling (due to a runny nose, of course). Harry was once again forced to describe Draco as "cute." ("Do not think those things...oh, forget it").

"Anyway, I had a question for you. How come you haven't been to see Pomfrey about your cold? I'm sure she'd cure it in about a second."

"Why are you so interested in my welfare, Potter?" Draco glared fiercely at Harry through red-rimmed eyes. "You don't care."

"Yes, I do," Harry said automatically. Draco continued to glare (between coughs). "Well…I mean…"

"Please, do say what you really mean for once today."

Harry closed his mouth and looked closely at Draco. Was he…bitter? About Harry's earlier comment?

They stared at each other in silence. Draco sighed.

"I haven't gone to Pomfrey because…because I don't think that it's that bad." He ended this statement with a particularly violent cough.

Harry, in disbelief, said, "Are you kidding me Malfoy? You're coughing, sneezing, and," Harry stepped towards Draco and put a hand to his forehead again (he told himself that this was only for medical purposes), "You're still…rather hot."

They both smiled.

"Fine, so I'm sick. But why do you care, Potter?"

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, then gave in to what he had been fighting for so long. He leaned in, impossibly close. Draco gasped, but didn't turn away. They simply stayed like that, noses touching, until Harry whispered, his lips ghosting over Draco's, "This is why."

Harry kissed Draco. Harry Potter kissed Draco Malfoy. The Gryffindor's hand slid backward into the Slytherin's silky blond hair; Draco's arms circled Harry's waist and pulled the boy hero closer. One kiss intensified into dozens of heated, open-mouthed ones. Their tongues danced as they each fought for power, bodies connecting at ever available location. They fit together perfectly, in all the right places, as if they had done this all before and would continue to do it again and again and again…

They gave no more thought to colds, or embarrassment, or even rivalry. They thought only of how to get closer, teaching the other how to moan their name by doing just the right things.

They soon disappeared under the Invisibility Cloak, and weren't seen again until breakfast the next morning.

oo

Hermione thought that something about Harry was a little off. Sure, he was eating plenty of eggs, sausage, toast, what have you, but he looked rather tired. This didn't really surprise Gryffindor's resident genius, as Harry was always out adventuring at night while normal people slept soundly. This, however, seemed to be a different sort of tired, the worn-out, bone-dead tired that comes from hours of Quidditch practice.

Hermione frowned. He couldn't have been on his broom last night. It had been pouring rain the whole time, with thunder and lightning and all those horrid stormy weather sounds that made Hermione glad to have a nice, warm bed. But what could he have been doing that had taken so much out of him?

Her thoughts were interrupted at that moment by a loud sound from across the table. She looked up, startled, into Harry's face. He was blushing slightly and covering his nose with his hands.

Harry had sneezed.

oo

Cookies to all reviewers!


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